GRUMBLE CORNER AND THANKSGIVING STREET.

I knew a man whose name was Horner,
Who used to live on Grumble Corner;
Grumble Corner, in Cross-Patch Town,
And he was never seen without a frown.
He grumbled at this; he grumbled at that;
He growled at the dog; he growled at the cat;
He grumbled at morning; he grumbled at night;
And to grumble and growl were his chief delight.

He grumbled so much at his wife that she
Began to grumble as well as he;

And all the children, wherever they went,
Reflected their parents' discontent.

If the sky was dark and betokened rain,
Then Mr. Horner was sure to complain;
And if there was never a cloud about,
He'd grumble because of a threatened drought.

His meals were never to suit his taste;
He grumbled at having to eat in haste;
The bread was poor, or the meat was tough,
Or else he hadn't had half enough.
No matter how hard his wife might try
To please her husband, with scornful eye
He'd look around, and then with a scowl
At something or other begin to growl.

One day, as I loitered along the street,
My old acquaintance I chanced to meet,
Whose face was without the look of care
And the ugly frown that it used to wear.
"I may be mistaken, perhaps," I said,
As, after saluting, I turned my head;
"But it is, and it isn't, the Mr. Horner
Who lived so long on Grumble Corner!"

I met him next day; and I met him again,

In melting weather, in pouring rain;

When stocks were up, and when stocks were down;

But a smile somehow had replaced the frown.

It puzzled me much, and so, one day,

I seized his hand in a friendly way,

And said, "Mr Horner, I'd like to know

What has happened to change you so?"

He laughed a laugh that was good to hear, For it told of a conscience calm and clear; And he said, with none of the old-time drawl, "Why, I've changed my residence, that is all!” "Changed your residence?" "Yes," said Horner, "It wasn't healthy on Grumble Corner, And so I moved; 'twas a change complete; And you'll find me now on Thanksgiving Street."

Now every day as I move along

The streets so filled with the busy throng,
I watch each face, and can always tell
Where men and women and children dwell;
And many a discontented mourner
Is spending his days on Grumble Corner,
Sour and sad, whom I long to entreat
To take a house on Thanksgiving Street.

LITTLE WORRIES.-GEORGE R. SIMS.

Though many ills may hamper life
When fortune turns capricious,
The great but nerve us for the strife,
The small ones make us vicious;
Fierce griefs are soon outstripped by one
Who through existence scurries;
It's harder far a race to run

With nimble "little worries."

A button bids your shirt good-bye
When late for dinner dressing,
You have a kite you cannot fly,
And creditors are pressing;
You run to catch-and lose--a train
(That fatalest of hurries),

Your newest hat encounters rain

Life's full of "little worries."

From day to day some silly things
Upset you altogether;

There's nought so soon convulsion brings
As tickling with a feather;
'Gainst minor evils let him pray

Who fortune's favor curries;

For one that big misfortunes slay
Ten die of "little worries."

WHISPERIN' BILL.-IRVING BACHELLER.

So you're takin' the census, mister? There's three of us livin' still,

My wife, and I, an' our only son, that folks call Whisperin'

Bill;

But Bill couldn't tell ye his name, sir, an' so it's hardly worth givin',

For ye see a bullet killed his mind an' left his body livin'.

Set down fer a minute, mister. Ye see Bill was only fifteen At the time of the war, an' as likely a boy as ever this world has seen;

An' what with the news o' battles lost, the speeches an' all the noise,

I guess every farm in the neighborhood lost a part of its crop o' boys.

"Twas harvest time when Bill left home; every stalk in the fields of rye

Seemed to stand tiptoe to see him off an' wave him a fond good-bye;

His sweetheart was here with some other girls,-the sassy little miss!

An' pretendin' she wanted to whisper 'n his ear, she gave him a rousin' kiss.

Oh, he was a han'some feller, an' tender an' brave an' smart, An' tho' he was bigger than I was, the boy had a woman's heart.

I couldn't control my feelin's, but I tried with all my might. An' his mother an' me stood a-cryin' till Bill was out o' sight.

His mother she often told him when she knew he was goin'

away

That God would take care o' him, maybe, if he didn't fergit to pray;

An' on the bloodiest battle-fields, when bullets whizzed in the air,

An' Bill was a-fightin' desperate, he used to whisper a prayer.

Oh, his comrades has often told me that Bill never flinched a bit

When every second a gap in the ranks told where a ball had hit.

An' one night when the field was covered with the awful

harvest of war,

They found my boy 'mongst the martyrs o' the cause he was fightin' for.

His fingers were clutched in the dewy grass-oh, no, sir, he wasn't dead,

But he lay sort o' helpless an' crazy with a rifle ball in his head.

An' if Bill had really died that night I'd give all I've got worth givin';

For ye see the bullet had killed his mind an' left his body livin'.

An officer wrote and told us how the boy had been hurt in the fight,

But he said that the doctors reckoned they could bring him around all right.

An' then we heard from a neighbor, disabled at Malvern

Hill,

That he thought in a course of a week or so he'd be comin' home with Bill.

We was that anxious t' see him we'd set up an' talk o' nights Till the break o' day had dimmed the stars an' put out the northern lights;

We waited and watched for a month or more, an' the summer was nearly past,

When a letter came one day that said they'd started fer home at last.

I'll never fergit the day Bill came,-'twas harvest time again;

An' the air blown over the yellow fields was sweet with the scent o' the grain;

The dooryard was full o' the neighbors, who had come to share our joy,

An' all of us sent up a mighty cheer at the sight o' that soldier boy.

An' all of a sudden somebody said: “My God! don't the boy know his mother?"

An' Bill stood a-whisperin', fearful like, an' starin' from one to another;

“Don't be afraid, Bill," said he to himself, as he stood in his

coat o' blue,

"Why, God'll take care o' you, Bill, God'll take care o' you."

He seemed to be loadin' an' firin' a gun, an' to act like a man who hears

The awful roar o' the battlefield a-soundin' in his ears;

I saw that the bullet had touched his brain an' somehow

made it blind,

With the picture o' war before his eyes an' the fear o' death in his mind.

I grasped his hand, an' says I to Bill, "Don't ye remember

me?

I'm yer father-don't ye know me?

seem to be!"

How frightened ye

But the boy kep' a-whisperin' to himself, as if 'twas all he

knew,

"God'll take care o' you, Bill, God'll take care o' you."

He's never known us since that day, nor his sweetheart, an' never will;

Father an' mother an' sweetheart are all the same to Bill. An' many's the time his mother sets up the whole night through,

An' smooths his head, and says: "Yes, Bill, God'll take care o' you."

Unfortunit? Yes, but we can't complain. It's a livin' death more sad

When the body clings to a life o' shame an' the soul has gone to the bad;

An' Bill is out o' the reach o' harm an' danger of every kind;
We only take care of his body, but God takes care o' his
mind.
-The Independent.

DEATH'S TRIUMPH.

To render this effective the speaker should appear to be addressing a prostrate figure.

Ho! ho! At last I've found you! You know not my weary years of patient watching and patient waiting. I've sat by you many a time with outstretched hands during your infancy. I've followed you during all the misfortunes and dangers of youth. I've sought you upon land, when the elements were in frenzy around you, when the thunderbolts were crashing near you. I've sought you when plague and pestilence were abroad in the land. But over and over you escaped me. I sought you on the battlefield, when leaden bullets fell like hail, and your comrades fell around you; yet again did you escape me, and my weary watch was in vain, for kind angels watched over you. Again I caught you on the ocean, when the wild waves ran mountain high. Ah! how I laughed as I saw the good ship go crashing on the hidden reef! How it gladdened my heart at sight of your